


The Long, Busy, Tiring, Hectic, Loud, Bustling Day at the Archives

by JayBarou



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Kidfic, Timeline What Timeline, Young Jon goes to give his Mr.spider statement, gossip at the archives, relationships not tagged because not even I can squint that hard, the Gertrude-generation gang meets Jon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:00:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26358373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayBarou/pseuds/JayBarou
Summary: Jon goes to the Magnus Institute, where he plans to give his statement about Mr Spider. It would help if people stopped cutting in, being too talkative, rude, making noise, plotting and dying while he did so. Thank you very much.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 168





	The Long, Busy, Tiring, Hectic, Loud, Bustling Day at the Archives

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of things happen while Jon waits.  
> I started writing this thinking of sending it to a fanzine but the wordcount overflowed and more stuff happened, so here you have it instead!  
> Also, Jon's comment about the ramp is him trying to be mature in a childish way, but it might sound ableist, be warned, and it does not reflect the author's opinion on ramps

Jon stared at the stairs that climbed to the Magnus Institute. He had not been deterred by the train, he had not been deterred by the London streets, and a piece of hostile architecture wouldn't stop him either. He really wanted to use the ramp, but at nine he was too old for such childish things and he had come here for business, he had to look the part.

The floors were made of shiny marble and there was a dome overhead and an information desk just in the middle. Jon looked around for direction signs; he didn't want to talk to anyone if it wasn't strictly necessary. There had to be a sign with what was on each floor somewhere, but there were just broad ways to wings and elevators and nothing useful. He steeled himself; information desk it was. 

Except, a man passed by his side and got there first. The two people behind the information desk who had been idly talking turned their attention to the newcomer. Jon did too, lacking anything better to do. Maybe “man” was too old a word. The person acted very proper, making Jon want to straighten his spine by proxy, but he wasn’t old _old_. It was something in his voice too, and in the way he addressed the two people on the other side of the desk. 

"Good afternoon, I'm looking for a book.”

"Of course, if you give me your name you will have a guest pass for the library in no time. Are you a researcher?"

"Of sorts. Have my ID, Michael Crew, but I'm more interested in very particular books, and I've been led to believe I would find those in Storage."

"You will need a permit to have access to Storage, and then you have to fill the consent forms 8-5A and..."

“I don’t have time for that. University starts soon, and I won’t be here...”

Jon had the sudden thought that there had to be a cleaner’s cart somewhere close or something. He could smell something distracting, like chemicals, like after the rain...

“Pass me those forms quickly, I’ll be back.”

“You need to sign...”

Jon missed the minutia of paperwork when the guy who had cut in left in a rush and the other man behind the desk dived behind it. Probably calling that one a man was too much too, young man maybe; just the opposite of the old man with the huge white beard who walked to the desk demanding attention as if he owned the place. He also cut in; Jon was displaced to the side of the desk again.

“Director Wright, how may I help you?”

Jon leaned a bit further back to see the young man crouched next to the legs of the lady.

“If you see Mr Bouchard, let him know I’ll be in my office. He knows he has an appointment with me today. I have to talk to Gertrude first, but it will only take a moment. He is next.”

Jon saw the young man see him and realize that he was being seen. The guy took a finger to his lips.

“I’ll tell him if I see him.”

“Here, and keep these documents secure. My happy retirement is in your hands.”

“So soon, Director Wright?” The woman took the documents with a customary cheerful tone. “You are still practically a boy!”

“I am! But it is time to retire this old body of mine.”

Jon was at a perfect height to see the cane of the man up close; it looked polished but uneven. The wood had lots of knots, and each knot seemed to be holding a staring contest with the world.

“And what are you doing here, little fly?”the man, that Wright guy, told Jon. Jon didn’t want to talk to him, just to the information desk person. And fortunately, wishing it seemed to be enough. “Yes, Rebecca, tell someone to take this boy to give his statement.”

“Sure, Director Wright.”

The old man left, the young man behind the desk resurfaced, and Jon waited.

“You are going to have to face him, Elias. What did you do?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Take the boy down and go to talk to him. Like a band-aid, just rip it off.”

“I don’t want to,”he whispered, but walked to the other side and gestured Jon to follow.

Jon followed Elias Bouchard with curiosity. He was pale and shaky, but after the day Jon had had, he didn’t have any sympathy for someone who had not had to deal with evil books that morning.

Their way was empty; they only crossed paths with someone with blond curls showing over a tower of files. He was going in the direction of the entrance and tried to say hi without upsetting the precarious balance of the files with a modicum of success. Jon’s guide ignored him, too deep in his worries to care, and making Jon wonder if there were really worse things than giant human-eating spiders, but he could only picture an even bigger spider or a thousand little ones.

He was shown to a wide intersection hall with plastic chairs pushed against the walls where another man was already waiting.

Then the Elias guy walked away, eyes huge, steps a little wobbly, like a condemned soul. He turned left at the end and in the silence Jon could hear a faraway knock and a door opening and closing, then only silence.

If it had been a normal day, Jon would have walked closer to eavesdrop a little, he would have explored the halls while he waited. It was not a normal day and he sat still and avoided looking at the other man. He scratched the strap of his backpack, which made a zip nose with each sweep of his nail. He had been told the noise annoyed others, but it calmed him down most days. Today was not most days and he didn’t have the luck of a silent wait.

“Hey, lad.”The man looked... not dangerous by what Jon could see from the corner of his eye. “Are you having trouble with something odd too?” Jon still didn’t move, only the zip, zip, of his nail on the bag strap. “I’m Alfred. I’m here for some odd things too. There is a box out there waiting for me.”

Jon didn’t look up, but Alfred did when another young man crossed the hallway. The youngest Jon had seen so far, not much older than himself and the easiest to remember. He crossed the hall with an air of confidence and got lost at the end and to the right. Alfred stared after the guy, probably because he looked like what awa would have called “trouble”. It had to do with dressing in black, Jon thought, and having long hair like a Beatle, whatever that meant.

“Alfred Breekon? Have you come to give a statement?”A woman had come out of one of the doors while they were distracted. “Come with me.”

Alfred stood immediately and walked out with the woman, he turned to say goodbye but seeing that Jon hadn’t moved he just left.

Jon was not having a very verbal day, true, but he thought it was entirely understandable. The anomaly was Mr An-Odd-Thing over there all talkative after being supposedly scared. He was glad he was gone, but now he was alone and there were so many doors he didn't know, and this place... he knew they had“odd" things in there, probably in the basement, and maybe books. It was a distressing thought, to say the least. 

The man from before, the one with the curls who seemed to be dressed in pastel colours now that he didn’t have the stack of files, came back through the hallway. The guy was going to pass through too, like the Trouble one and in the same direction, but he saw Jon, looked around, saw the other adult was not there, and walked back. Dread sat heavy in Jon's stomach. He didn't want to talk anymore today. And whoever this was, he looked chatty. 

"I like your bag." Case in point.

Jon's bag used to have bright colours, but now were as pastel as the guy's clothes. Jon couldn't bring himself to throw it away despite the tears and how worn out it was. Nobody liked his bag. It had to be a lie. But also, the guy had sat leaving an empty space between them and that felt good.

"We don't get many people your age here. And it looks like you came alone?" 

If the man expected an answer, he was going to get a disappointment. 

"My mum used to say not to trust strangers. So it is cool, alright? You don't have to say anything."

That was... better. He could listen, he could do that. In fact, it was nice not having that pressure when he was literally unable to speak at the moment.

A door opened in the hallway and out came two women. One had fiery red hair, the other looked a bit like awa. They were deep in conversation, but the one like awa looked at them, sharply, when they were walking by their side and pinned the pastel guy with a look.

"Michael, stick to the cases I left on your desk. I will be back soon. And don't dawdle.”

“More claustrophobia in America, Ms Robinson? Looks, looks like an infection, huh? Heh.”

The guy stood up, almost jumping and sputtering a nervous weird laugh and some awkward goodbyes. He made to leave in the opposite direction of the women, but as soon as they turned the corner he did a little silly turn-around, and sat back down by his -comfortably far- side. He laughed again that strange laugh, but more relaxed, and he seemed to be trying to include Jon in on the joke if the swift look at Jon and at the exit was anything to go by. 

"That was Gertrude. She is my boss. If she comes back quick enough she might be the one to take your statement. If not, it will probably be Emma. Sarah has too much to do..."

The sound of a door opening made Jon look to the right and there he was, the young man from the information desk coming out, Elias? Elias. He walked deeper into the building instead of out, so Jon didn't manage to see if he was even paler than before, if he had faced something worse than spiders.

“Look,” Michael gently picked up again his monologue. “If you get nervous, if Gertrude or Emma or the others make you nervous, tell them to find Michael, okay? They make me nervous too, but we'll find a way to let you tell your story.” 

Jon didn’t like being treated like a delicate child, but the guy made him think that he was just as lost as Jon if not more. He felt like he wouldn’t be dragged away to _behave how he should_ if he took this guy’s hand. And also like he would have to be the brave one if he did. And he liked that a little bit, being brave for someone instead of the other way round.

Then there was the noise of a door, and metal; a bang of weak metal snapping open by force. It sounded like the pool’s lockers slamming open. It had Michael’s attention. He stood with a frown and walked slowly in the direction of the noise. Jon almost whispered for him to not leave. Almost. Jon knew how those things ended now: With hairy legs grabbing people.

Then another woman distracted Jon from Michael’s retreating back. This one was new, she came through the hall with a box in her hands, a brisk pace punctuated by her sensible heels and a coat and bag hanging from her elbow, she looked at Jon with some interest, but at the same time the door opened on the other side and the woman from before appeared too.

“Hey, Sarah, I thought I heard you. Gertrude left these addresses, she needs you to do the follow-up.”

“Lately it looks like I’m the only one working here!” She complained.

“I don’t know, it is Gertrude’s thing. Since Fiona... she has been a bit... you know, so I wouldn’t bring it up to her.”

“I guess,” Sarah shrugged, but her grip of the box didn’t waver at all.

“Are you heading out now?”

“You are not coming with me either?”

“I’m in the middle of statement-taking.”

“Oh, I see.” Sarah’s eyes went to Jon again and both understanding and pity lit in them. Jon didn’t like pity. “Fine, yes, I’ll go as soon as I leave this with Gertrude.”

“She’s out.”

“Again?”

Their tone seemed to turn higher and with more... more music in it. Melodic, more melodic. Jon was sure there had to be a meaning to that, there always was, but he couldn’t understand what it was.

“With the Agnes girl.”

“Ahaa, again?!”

“Apparently!”

“Good for her, she needs to let her hair down sometimes.”

“You think she would do that in the middle of the job?”

“Emma, don’t make me think about it. She’s our boss! I’m out! I’m not listening! I’ll leave these with Wright instead and I’m going to put as many blocks as possible between your gossip and me!”

Sarah rushed down the hall and Emma went back to the statement room, shaking her head, smiling and leaving Jon once again alone with the far sounds of someone deeper going through things. Jon wondered if he could go to investigate a little those noises.

Sarah had not even left far enough to miss the click of her heels, she had to be on the door to Wright’s office when she gasped and let all the material she had been carrying fall to the floor. His curiosity now definitely pulled him to investigate, but before he could do more than stand he heard a different shout, low, warning, not scared, and then an awful lot of noise and running.It came from the other side of the hall and it mixed with a woman’s cry for help, Sarah probably. Jon didn’t know what to do, but the other woman, Emma, came from the statements room and rushed down the hall to the open door. Jon followed, carefully, at a distance, but close enough to hear.

“Oh, my God! What happened?”

“I don’t know, he was like this when I came in.”

“And the eyes?”

Jon peered inside. The two women were leaning over the old man who had seen him in the entrance. He was slumped over the desk.

“Call an ambulance.”

“I think he is dead.”

“Do you know CPR?”

“No. I’ll call, you do it.”

And that conversation proceeded with the background music of ruckus still deeper in the archives, suddenly dying down to something quieter, but getting closer.

Jon rushed back to his chair. Whatever was happening, his uncomfortable plastic chair seemed like the right place to be. Soon enough he was proven right when the noises coalesced in Michael gently bullying Trouble along.

They were dishevelled, shouting in whispers, Michael had a hand behind Trouble’s shoulder blades so he wouldn’t bolt back into the archives. Trouble didn’t look like he was going to bolt, he was consumed by the key that Michael was holding in his other hand, arm stretched in the opposite direction from the boy.

Jon was dying of curiosity.

“You don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand? You were trying to steal from Storage! It is dangerous!”

“You don’t know the half of it! None of you does!”

“Then why don’t you stay and give us a statement, so we will know.”

“Like hell will I feed your lot. I just need the books for her.”

“No.”

“Why don’t you go and drive off a cliff?”

“Probably because I don’t have a car.”

Jon felt like Michael was having fun at Trouble’s expense. Not in a cruel way, but making Jon feel like... Jon had never had a sibling, but maybe that was what Michael projected. Teasing and tired but ultimately friendly big brother.

The illusion shattered when Sarah came running down the hall and Michael stopped her.

“What’s the rush?”

“The paramedics, at the door, must go for them.” She ran, but still shouted from afar, “Wright is dead!”

“Wright is what?!” Michael said to nobody in particular.

Trouble used the distraction to jump and take the key from Michael’s hand. He turned around, but his plans to escape got quickly frustrated when he turned and Gertrude came out of nowhere. Trouble collided with her weakly and when he looked up she had the key in her hand, a stern look on her face and the countenance of a judge before a suspected killer.

“Gerard.”

“...You know me?” He frowned.

“You know him?” Michael frowned in sync. “No, wait, Gertrude, Sarah said Wright is dead.”

The man who had been giving a statement came out of the room. A couple of paramedics appeared through the hall, guided by Sarah repeating “There, over here” to them. They rushed past them, giving extra weight to Michael’s words. 

“I’m glad I talked to him before, then,” Gertrude answered coldly and without an ounce of surprise on her face.

“I’m going to leave this here...” said the statement man quietly, leaving some pages on one of the plastic chairs. Only Jon paid him any attention, but the man didn’t see him, and left saying something about how he should have come three years prior.

Michael was torn between rushing to help with the old man, keeping an eye on trouble, and, Jon realized, keeping an eye on him too. Gertrude took part of the problem away.

“Gerard, walk those fishnets to my office, we have things to discuss. Agnes, we will have to delay things... But not much.”

The woman with red hair nodded, and Trouble, Gerard if one wanted to be boring, walked after the woman almost meekly.

They had to stop to let the paramedics roll the stretcher by them again. It now carried the body of the old man that Jon had met in the foyer. Someone had put his cane on top, maybe hoping in vain that he would use it again. Jon noticed, almost as background noise, how smooth and unknotted the wood was. Emma and Sarah came walking sedately after the stretcher, right to where the group was standing. Emma was the first to break the silence.

“Right. No point loitering, huh? You should really check those directions, Sarah.”

The redhead levelled Emma with a burning stare, Gertrude shook her head minutely, Sarah nodded at Emma and Michael missed it all, because he was staring worriedly at the hand Gertrude had on Trouble. Jon didn’t notice where Gerard was looking and wouldn’t have been pleased with being stared.

“Who do we have here?” Emma addressed Jon with the most annoying tone Jon had heard in the last week. “A miniwitness came to give a ministatement? Are you alone? Where are mum and dad?”

Jon stood from the chair, and since he was passing by he took the statement from the other chair so it wouldn’t get lost. He didn’t look at Emma or at any of the others.

“Dead. Can we start with the statement?”

Behind his back there was a huff and also a muffled snort, but there was also a gasp and a humm. He had no idea of who had made which. Just as well, why should he care? He had to warn everyone about Mr Spider; this was actually important.

Emma closed the door behind them. He could hear steps deserting the hall.

“Have you ever given a statement? You didn’t tell me your name.”

“No.”

“ _No_ you haven’t given...”

But Jon had already picked up a pen, the forms, and was no longer listening. He was focused, he wanted to write down as many detains as humanly possible. It would help to identify and contain it and maybe save another child. It was his mission, and he didn’t hear the steps or the doors or the creaking of chairs in the room or other rooms. His world was the blank page in front of him.

“Do you need any help... Jon?”

“No, Emma.”

She had looked at the forms to get his name, so he guessed he could use her name too. He hadn’t planned to look up from his statement, but he did, and Jon saw Emma distractedly brushing a cobweb from her hair. He looked back at his statement and shuddered. What if writing it down was dangerous? What if he was calling Mr. Spider here by mentioning him? What if giving them many details made Mr Spider angry?

But by now he had started writing and he found he couldn’t stop. It was like all those times he was “too concentrated” as awa said, but even stronger.

Once he was done he felt... the same.

Emma walked him to the stairs and left him alone to find the exit at his insistence. She went away with his statement and the other one. And Jon shook his head, he was still immersed in his own statement, still tangled in the memory. He crossed the foyer, and he would have left the building entirely, but there was a noise of paper tearing and a shout behind him.

“Oh, my God. My God. My... Elias!! Elias, comecomecome! What did he say to you!?”

“That he was happy with my performance and to expect a promotion.”

“WHAT A PROMOTION, ELIAS! I was looking over the documents he left since he won’t be able to pick them up later, and LOOK! He named you The. New. Director!”

“Will you look at that!”

It looked like a lie, sounded like a lie, but Jon had been accused in numerous occasions of not understanding the finer nuances of human interaction. So maybe that Elias guy was just that unenthusiastic by nature. In any case, Jon couldn’t follow the conversation because it was cut by a phone call.

“Sorry, I have to take it.”

Jon walked to the exit, the same as Elias.

“Hello, Peter. Your paramedics picked it up, it’s done.”

Jon walked very slowly.

“You think hearing a new voice is strange? Try having a whole new set of teeth.”

Elias passed his tongue over his teeth and jerked to look at Jon.

“Still here, little fly?”

Jon hunched and glared but walked away, leaving the man to his devices. He still lingered, with the strange feeling of unfinished business. He looked around, in case something sparked his memory.

Trouble was tucked in a corner smoking. His face had lost some of the anger, and Michael was actually talking to him too, his uneasy smile had diluted into something less smiley but more laid-back, they both seemed to have cancelled out each other while they talked. 

Trouble was far too observant, and he had seen Jon walking away alone. He had only scrunched his eyebrows, but the gesture had been evident to Michael who waved at him to come closer. Jon... Jon was curious, he wanted to get closer.

But Elias was right by them, looking at Jon like... like a spider, waiting for the little fly to step on a sticky thread. He really couldn’t get the image of the spider out of his head that day. He hoped it would go away eventually. But for now, he couldn’t get any closer to a spider, metaphorical or otherwise, so he took one step down, still walking backwards. Michael looked a little pained at the rejection, Trouble leaned forward to see what Jon was really walking away from, saw Elias and leaned back so the column would hide him better. 

Jon took two steps backwards. It finally dawned on him that it had not been Elias who had called him a little fly the first time. The feeling of an unfinished business increased. He had been so busy observing everyone that he didn’t notice he was being observed, and all of a sudden it felt like a weight over him. Michael and Trouble and Elias, and the people in the street, and every window of the institute seemed to be looking at him.

Jon stepped farther, but he could imagine Elias walking out of an office and as soon as the paramedics left, he took a plaque from his pocket and exchanged it with the one of Wright.

Jon blinked and he imagined Sarah was being hunted while checking one of her addresses. Jon blinked and pressed his fists against his eyes, still closed. He imagined? He _saw_ Gertrude looking disapprovingly at the new plaque in the Director’s office. Blink. He saw awa getting ready to look for him. Jon blinked and he saw Trouble and Michael looking at each other and then approaching him. He saw them, but his eyes were closed.

He blinked.

There were people, so many people he didn’t know, and it was too much. He wanted his eyes really closed, he wanted less, too much noise, too many people...

He saw, he saw...

He saw Emma picking up his statement. "What were you thinking? It’s too soon." She whispered to herself, lit up Mr Spider’s statement and threw it in a bin. She would blame Delano’s boy if anyone asked. 

Jon’s eyes snapped open, or maybe snapped closed, something _else_ snapped too, and he was seeing, not _seen_. And he ran.

He didn’t look back, he didn’t care. He convinced himself he had had one of those “bad times” as awa called them, as strange as it had been. He ran, working to tell himself it wasn’t another “odd” thing, and he wasn’t a little fly who had stepped on too many webs in a day.

He had a mission and the mission was done.

The rest would have to wait.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to get rid of a plot bunny, but all I got was another plot bunny for Michael 'kidnapping' Gerry and Jon and becoming the big brother in their own found family trope


End file.
